


"Go home," Leonard wants to say – or wants to want to say. He kisses Mick instead, and laughs.

by hakura0



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, coldwave, first time aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 04:56:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7921363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakura0/pseuds/hakura0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard Snart did his research, had done enough to know that Mick Rory burns bridges in his wake. That what he touches turns to smoke and flame and ash.</p>
<p>Mick's touch consumes like the flames that he is so fond of, and the part that he hates the most is that he doesn't hate it.</p>
<p>That he lets it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Go home," Leonard wants to say – or wants to want to say. He kisses Mick instead, and laughs.

Leonard falls just short of crashing through the bathroom door, locking it behind him with more care than he is explicitly feeling. He can't breathe and it's somehow more and less than panic, his face flushed red with heat and exertion as he jerks down the zipper of his coat with shaky fingers.

The parka falls to the floor as he tries to ignore the weakness in his knees and then moves onto peeling off his sweat-soaked sweater.

Soon he's standing in the dark bathroom naked, his gaze dangerously close to the mirror and his own reflection as he grasps the edge of the sink, the cold porcelain only just cutting through the fact that he is still too, too warm.

He's hot and sore in a way that doesn't quite hurt, muscles more relaxed than he thought they could be.

He does and doesn't want to look up into the darkened mirror, half afraid that his reflection would be younger, that he would be somewhen else.

He moves into the tub instead, and the cold bites through him, into him - makes the soreness in his muscles themselves more apparent.

He turns on the shower even as he lays back, closes his eyes under the stream and tries not to think about anything. Tries not to think about how damn warm Mick Rory's skin is, his hands and his mouth and his dick. 

He almost manages, almost blanks his mind as the water pours down on him but he thinks; _I remember it hurting more than this._

He laughs at himself for it, then again for the way it echoes through the bathroom. Part of him almost expects to hear the door tried but there's nothing.

...

Outside of the door, Mick lays sprawled on the bed, naked and all but shameless with the blankets crumpled somewhere on the floor.

The room feels cold against his skin but a part of him is too satisfied to move and do something like fend off the chill. He'd be concerned if Len didn't seem like the kind of person who'd shower immediately after sex, if he hadn't already run the bases with him refusing to remove that damned parka. 

Right then he wasn't bothering much with trying to figure out Leonard Snart. Something told him that it would ruin the mood for both of them.

He gropes on the nightstand for his lighter around the same time that he hears the shower finally start.

The little flame is hot enough to warm his hands, distracts him enough to take his mind off of the chill. 

He thinks about how unexpectedly warm Len was around him, the feel of lips against his neck and the fabric of the coat not quite smooth against his skin.

He thinks he might miss him, when this part of his life inevitably alights. There's something empty about the other side of the bed. Something that draws the corner of his eye to the bathroom door from the flame for just a moment.

It was a good thing going. Len was smart as a tack, could plan a damn good heist and there was just something that drew him in.

The impression that Leonard Snart gave was that the world was his oyster - his, and whoever was with him.

It was a damn attractive quality and if he was being entirely honest his face didn't hurt things either.

Neither of them say anything when the door opens again. Mick pretends not to notice, his gaze still primarily on the flame.

"You're going to set the bed on fire." Len says eventually.

"We just did." Mick tells him without faltering, and Len shakes his head - just barely.

"I'm going to sleep." he tells Mick, and there is almost a hint of warning in his tone.

Mick laughs, just once, and blows out the lighter before watching him curl up on his side of the bed, parka back in place.

"And if I don't feel like leaving yet?" Mick asks, the almost challenge in his voice making the corner of Len's mouth twitch into the barest hint of a smirk as he faced the other direction.

"Then don't. Can't recall the part where I asked you to."

He can feel Mick settling into the bed beside him then, creaking springs and then silence.

When he wakes up they are pressed back to back, and he is warm but not as uncomfortably sweltering as before.

He hesitates for a moment before he rolls away and onto his stomach, leaning on his elbows. 

"I suppose," He admits to the darkened room almost grudgingly, "that wasn't a bad first time."

Mick doesn't respond, and Len allows himself a smile. "I _liked_ it," he whispers, almost too low to hear as he leans forward. He isn't sure if it's himself or Mick that he's actually intending to share that information with.

Regardless, he's the only one that hears. He falls back to sleep eventually, wakes to Mick rolled onto his own back and an arm resting on him, Mick's hand gripping the brim of his hood.

He half braces himself for panic but it doesn't come.


End file.
